Monday, February 9, 2009

At a desk , in a class

Okay my fabulous book idea that I’m not totally in love with..through more thought I’ve come to the conclusion of something that I find to be quite extreme. I wouldn’t call myself a writer..not any more at least. I love to write and yet in no way do I belive that it entitles me to any kind of title. Althought the fact that I write and I write novels that this would make me a writer..I’m just not sure that is something I want right now. I’m not sure I want the weight of something so massive and something so hard. I find that the title makes me so critical of myself and of my work that at time I am not even able to write a sentence and what this has lead to is a small but great space between me and that title. I’m finding that I like myself enough to be nothing…I don’t need any kind of title any more something to stable me and something to ground me. I’m stable without it and I’m grounded without it. I’m very comfortable being nothing and yet being nothing allows me to be so much. Happily naïve and happily me. I want a life that dosnt require me to think so deeply..I want a passion that allows be me without regulations and without stimulations. Me without strings and without wires me with being with ability and with freedom. I am not a writer nor a philosopher not a preacher not a creater not fashion forward I am simply me. No title not credits no stings and I am more then comfortable and more then capable of some kind of life. I think this is a huge sign of maturity I’m without and yet capable. I don’t have any strings or standards or limits. When I called myself a writer I was constantly at war with surroundings with me doing so much and going so far to defend that title and now I have no requirements. I feel very much like Kate Ashley…and this is a rare comparison as I typically consider myself to be Rachel but none the less I’m feeling very Kate Ashley. As if now metaphorically speaking…I had a life and in the life I felt certain things were so important and not that they were or wernt that did not matter that was my life and that was how it was..even if I was slightly miserable. Then I wake up one morning and I puke and there it is something just feels different something just feels strange and then I come to find that I’m dead and that I have to fight to stay alive and blab la bla and then I find out that I cancome back..that I can be reborn again..but then a thought hits me. I am not sure that I want to come back the same way,…being so dead I was able to see my life in a kind of retrospect and I saw it..and I wasn’t sure I liked it or wanted it. Now that I can come back I’m realizing that I want things to change and that I need things to change. This is my new chance..and this is my new life. I’m going to get my life back. I’m going to get my life back.